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Poetry

It is snowing in your country

I am looking out the bus window playing
River by Joni Mitchell. It is snowing there,
you sent me pictures of cobblestoned streets,


of you and your lover, four degrees cold, you
say. Meanwhile the trees are green as ever here
in my country. The children chase the chickens


and the sun trails off behind them. A mother
is picking green mangoes from the trees and
the men are drinking rice wine by the road.

The river runs smoothly, slowly painting the dry
rocks, while the stray dogs are swimming with
the catfish. The farmers are resting in their huts

beside the sleeping water buffalos. But it don’t snow
here, Joni sings, it stays pretty green. What do I know
of winter? I ask the rice fields of my country,

of snow? I only know of birds and trees and wishful
thinking. I know only of cold. I wish it snows here.
I wish you are here. In the prairies beside me lying

in the lush dry grass, laughing, and it is summer.

By Christian Baldomero

Christian Baldomero currently resides in Cebu City where he works as a CPA. He has published works in Dagmay Literary Journal, Bulawan Literary Zine of Mindanao, Libulan Binisaya Anthology of Queer Literature (Volume 1), Mindanao Gold Star Daily, Philippine STAR?s Young Star and Voice & Verse, a Hong Kong based literary publication. He has also attended several writers workshops in the Philippines. In his spare time, he likes to think he is a writer.

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